Saturday Mornings
by youareaneggroll
Summary: Max wakes up to David baking in his pyjamas. What else is new?


Sometimes, Max really didn't know what he'd done to deserve this.

It was Saturday morning, and by the time Max was grasping his surroundings, David was already up and downstairs in the kitchen. Max squinted out from his pillow, sunlight peeking through the slots in his blinds. He shifted over to look at his clock.

From the smells and sounds coming from the crack in Max's bedroom door, he was baking. God knows why. David had that creative kind of eccentricity, partial to doing things like rolling out of bed early weekend morning and deciding on a whim to make carrot cake or walnut bread. Max had lived with him long enough by then to be accustomed to it.

The realisation of baked goods certainly was enough to encourage Max to untangle himself from his covers without a lie-in, hoping to nab the remainder of the cake mix before David rinsed it away down the sink.

He left his sheets unmade behind him, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he padded barefoot.

Bathroom. He moved groggily, finding his way to the toilet where he relieved himself. He splashed water over his hands, half-heartedly drying them against a towel before he left. Max felt a little more awake then, letting out a yawn and stretching out his arms above his head.

He was relaxed.

The clean cotton of his new sleeping shirt was comfortable against his skin, the legs of his pyjama bottoms dragging against the floor behind his heels. They were too long. David had told Max originally they would be too long in Target, where they'd seen them on the hanger, but Max had insisted they were what he wanted, so David had bought them, and now Max was too stubborn to admit his mistake and ask David to alter them for him, despite the fact David was plenty proficient on his sewing machine.

Max approached their stairs, slowing as Platy meowed from where she was sprawled out on one of the first few steps. He crouched to pet her, expressionless as he gently threaded his fingers through her coat. David must have brushed her last night once he'd gone to bed, her long hairs soft and free from the debris and tangles she would pick up roaming about the neighbourhood.

Finished with the stroke, he stepped over her and continued his descent. The carpet was soft underfoot, Max brushing his fingers under the edges of the picture frames hung up on the wall during his descent. They were all familiar to him after hundreds of trips up and down; David and Gwen, David and his family during his childhood, David's great aunt, David and his friends from work. He came to a stop on the last frame and groaned. He'd put up Max's school photo again.

 _How embarrassing_ , thought Max. He paused momentarily at the sensation of yet another foreign, undeniably pleasant emotion.

Max shook it off like the others, dropping off the final step out into the hall. He brushed his fingertips against the floral wallpaper, moving toward the smell until he reached the kitchen doorway. He was quiet in his observation.

David was washing up in the sink. Max gazed in disappointment when he saw their mixing bowl was already clean, upturned on the drying rack, dripping sudsy water. There wasn't even so much as a batter-covered spoon.

Water sloshed as David worked, his yellow gloves peeking over the edge of the sink whenever he moved his elbows. He was undressed, still in the stupid, old man pyjamas he'd gone to bed in, buttoned all the way up to their collar. The windows above the sink were open. They blew in a spring breeze that made Max shiver where he stood. He couldn't understand how David could stand it.

Max came inside, pottering over to the oven where the delicious smell was coming from. He squatted and moved to his knees, brushing aside the oven gloves so he could squint inside. The hot glass warmed his face, met with rows of pastel coloured tins filled with gooey, chocolate chip innards. "What's with the cupcakes?" he asked.

"Ah- Good morning, Max! It's cake day at work on Monday, and it's my turn to make them," answered David from behind him. He rinsed off a whisk.

Max looked back over his shoulder and raised a brow.

David must have sensed Max's eyes on him. He turned slightly. "Don't worry." He smiled. "I've made enough for taste testing."

Pleased, Max looked back to the rising batter.

He listened to David hum as he washed up the last few bits, turning out the washing up bowl with a final slosh and a gurgle. He unpeeled his gloves.

"How are you feeling this morning?" asked David. The kitchen windows were closed under his hand, the latch hooked in place.

Max shrugged up a shoulder. He felt the man come up behind him. He looked up and David pushed a hand into his hair. It felt nice, so Max allowed him to do it, still straight-faced.

David remained smiley, undeterred. "Are you getting excited for the summer holidays?"

Max groaned a negation.

"What's with that reaction?" questioned David. "But the summer means camping!"

Max groaned again. "Exactly."

David pursed his lips. "You like camping."

"I like campingwith Nikki and Neil, _but_ Nikki and Neil are going to America this year, so it's gonna blow." Max rested his head back against David's knobbly knees.

"That's too much negativity, too early from you, Mr Grumpy-Pants," scolded David. "It'll be the perfect opportunity for you to make some new friends at the camp site." He gathered hair from Max's hairline and gently dragged it backwards from his forehead.

Max scowled but didn't pull away. "No, it won't. I'm the most unlikeable person on the planet."

"Hey. Don't say that. I think you're very likeable, Max."

"That's because you're a massive fucking weirdo," Max didn't skip a beat, "and, incidentally, because the government pays you to look after me."

David sighed. "Language. And as we've discussed before, the government isn't paying me to look after you, they're helping us out to make sure you have everything you need whilst you're staying with me, and so you have some savings waiting for you when you're eighteen."

Max's tone turned more playful than bite. He rose a brow. "And how do I know you're not dipping into the pot, huh?"

"Max." David's face battled between disappointment and amusement.

Max cracked a half-smirk.

David's expression softened, stroking through Max's unruly curls again. "You really think I'd do that?" he added on a more serious note.

Max shrugged again like he didn't already know the answer. He outstretched two arms above his head, towards David. "Help me up," he said.

David did as he was told, his broad, gentle hands taking hold of Max's to help him up off the tiled floor. "I wouldn't, by the way," he continued. "I'd never do anything like that. Take your money, I mean. It's yours." He paused, quickly tacking on, "When you're eighteen that is."

Max released his grip as soon as it was unnecessary, trying and failing to fight back a smile. "Alright, alright. I know. I get it, dude. Chill out."

David shoulders sagged a little in relief. "Good. Because it's true." He moved to sit down at their table.

Max shook his head a little with an eyeroll. David was such a dumbass sometimes, thinking that Max would have thought for a single second David would have it in him to be pocketing his cash. He trusted David too much for that to ever be a possibility.

Max wordlessly got their bread from the cupboard and pushed a few slices into the toaster, leaving the bag out on the counter. He filled up their kettle using the mini stool by the sink, moving up onto his toes to set it on the stove and ignite a gas ring.

"Do you really think you're so unlikeable?" inquired David, interrupting Max's mindless routine.

Platy yowled to announce her entrance into the kitchen and rubbed up against David's legs, searching for a second breakfast.

Max grabbed the back of a chair and dragged it along the floor towards the countertop. "Of course, I am," he claimed, climbing on top.

Max watched David struggle momentarily to hold his own tongue as to not to tell Max to be careful, to watch his feet, that David would get the plate for him instead. "Well, that's not true at all," David settled on, successful in holding himself back. He leaned over slightly to tickle at Platy's underbite, the cat leaning into the kind hand before flopping onto her side.

Max silently appreciated the man giving him more of the independence he'd asked for. He opened the right cupboard, still having to move onto his toes to reach what he wanted.

"You're intelligent, thoughtful and creative-" David winced as Platy padded against his leg with her claws, purring through David's petting. "And you're self-motivated when you put your mind to something. Those are all good traits. Traits people like in a friend."

"Gee, if that's true then I wonder where all these friends I should have are." Max knocked shut the cupboard door and hopped back down onto the tiles, plate now safely in hand.

"You'll have plenty once you settle properly into your new school."

"Yeah. And you've been saying that for _months_." Max set the plate by the toaster, dragging the chair back to the table.

"What about Nerris?"

"Neighbours don't count."

"Dolph? You went to his for dinner last week."

"Only cause his uncle owns a candy factory."

David gave Max a look, which Max smirked at, and then continued, "There's that boy you always stand with when I come and pick you up. What about him?"

"Ugh. Space kid. Pretty sure he's learning disabled."

"And that means you can't be friends with him because…?"

The kettle whistled, interrupting their discussion. Max turned to shut off the heat, using the racket to his advantage and not answering the question. He collected two mugs from their mug tree; the one covered in pine trees and the one shaped like a cat's face.

David continued to ponder, gently scritching Platy's head. "The one you've been partnered with in drama!" he exclaimed. "P-something. Patrick. Peter. No, Preston! It's Preston, right?"

"Preston's annoying." dead-panned Max.

David sighed. He pointed out, "You always say I'm annoying, but we're friends."

Max stopped halfway through opening the instant coffee jar. He glanced over his shoulder at his foster parent, unimpressed. "Friends? Last I checked I'm your hostage."

The man gasped dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. "Why I never!" David's voice peaked up an octave.

Max snickered. He went back to his breakfast, making himself his morning coffee and David one of his dumb herbal teas just in time for his toast to pop up. He set down David's mug on the table (the pine tree one) finding the man smiling in his direction with a nauseating look of affection.

"What?" demanded Max.

David just smiled wider. "Nothing. It's just nice to see you looking so at home."

Max felt his cheeks heat up. He scoffed in an attempt to derail the feeling, squinting suspiciously at David. "That's exactly what a kidnapper would say."

"Good thing I'm not a kidnapper, then." David lifted his mug to blow cool air over the liquid's surface. "Thanks for the tea."

"Whatever," grumbled Max, fetching David's homemade 'nutella' and a kitchen knife to slather it over his bread.

"What about Neil and Nikki, then?"

"Duh, they're my friends," replied Max, licking some chocolate spread off his hand, "but they're my _old school_ friends, so it doesn't really count."

David sipped from his mug. "And Platy?" he offered once he'd finished swallowing, setting his tea back down.

"Jesus. I think you'd have to be really pathetic to count that mangy thing as a friend." Max plopped down at the table, taking a big bite out of the first slice of toast and washing it down with a mouthful of coffee.

David sighed. He leaned against his hand, watching Max eat with a weird sense of sadness. "Sometimes you're your own worst enemy, Max."

Max just rolled his eyes. He took another bite of his toast, wiping at the corners of his mouth.


End file.
